#tron ♡

[troninthemiddle]

Exactly one moment before disaster or something.

[earthtolexie]

was NOT expecting that much tron sound!! I lost it.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters

♡ FEM reader

A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.

And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…

You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.

Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely. 

But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.

The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.

Oh, and they are full of it today.

Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel. 

At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen. 

Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon. 

The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.

With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling. 

You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.

You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.

Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude. 

Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.

“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.

It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed. 

But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain. 

But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”

Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.

To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”

You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.

“Good.” 

He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”

You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier. 

But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.

“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.

“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”

Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.

“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.” 

The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his. 

“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.” 

His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open. 

It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.

“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!” 

The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.

Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.

“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”

You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down. 

“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth. 

Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust. 

“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”

Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent. 

“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”

His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.

With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.

Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.

“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.” 

Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier. 

“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?” 

And a third smack. 

“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?

Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.

He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”

You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.

“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”

Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.

“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”

You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.

“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”

His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.

“Are you pure, magpie?”

Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.” 

He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”

You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.

Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.

He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.

Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.

You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.

“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”

Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.

You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.

“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”

You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.

“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”

Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow. 

Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.

“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”

He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor. 

And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.

The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.

“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.

A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret. 

At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.

Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.

“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”

But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar. 

Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”

And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.

He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.” 

He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.

And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[tmntfixationxreader]

"Hello author! I've read some of your other works and I thought they were great, so I have a request for you.

Would you be willing to write a Rise Raph x reader where they're having a sleepover? Raph is nervous about wearing his retainer around them but doesn't realize that the reader also has a retainer until they put theirs on, fluff ensues.❤️🙏🙏🙏"

Sure thing! Thanks for the request :)

*****************************************************************

♡Self conscious sleepover♡

~During a sleepover, Raph gets worried about wearing his retainer~

Warnings: None, just fluff :)

Word count: 933

*****************************************************************

You had just had an amazing, long night with the gang.

Raph had invited you over for a sleepover, so you could hang out with him and his brothers, watch movies, play games, and chill.

It was getting late now though, even for them. Mikey was already passed out on the couch you all had been watching movies on. Leo was sitting in front of the couch watching Jupiter Jim intently, and Donnie was typing something on his wrist watch, as he was ‘definitely too busy to watch the Atomic Lass special’.

Raph yawned once, displaying his fang and teeth before stretching his back as he sat forward. He noticed how sleepy you were looking, and decided it was probably time for the two of you to head to bed.

“Y/n, you ready to head to Raphs’ room?” Raph asked, looking sleepy himself.

You yawned as well and nodded. “Yeah, probably…”

Raph nodded, definitely ready for bed; But he was the older brother, and had to make sure his younger siblings would go to bed too.

“Leo, last movie. Seriously, you won’t get any sleep. Same for you too Donnie, and no lab work past midnight.”

“Yes yes dear brother, I know the rules,” Donnie said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand before typing more stuff onto his wrist watch.

“Don’t worry Hermanos, I’ll make sure Don Tron goes to bed…. Aaaand I won’t stay up past midnight either…” Leo said, giving Raph a smile before turning his attention fully back to the screen.

Raph sighed, content with their answer. “You two will sleep… Trust me, I’ll know if you didn’t.” He tucked Mikey in with a blanket before getting up from the couch.

“Ready Y/n?”

You nodded happily and sleepily, telling the twins goodnight before getting up from the couch yourself.

Raph’s bedroom was nice. It was large, decently organized, and decorated with a few scattered posters. You noticed the small (some larger) scratch marks on the walls from his spikes. He had a large bed, big enough for the two of you to sleep on. Actually, you guessed that it was a king sized bed and a twin mattress pushed together to make one large bed.

“I like your room,” You smiled, setting your bag down. You had already gotten changed into your pj's, brushed your teeth and hair, ready for bed. One last thing was needed, though, to complete your routine. You squatted down next to your bag, digging through its contents to find your retainer.

“Thanks,” Raph smiled, and sat down on his bed, having already finished his nightly routine… But, he needed his retainer, too. It was sitting on his mostly bare nightstand, next to a small lamp. He didn’t keep much on it, more than once he had knocked the contents off during the night.

He was nervous to get it out, looking over at it more than once as the two of you talked.

“It kind of reminds me of my own room… I especially like your squishmallows collection,” You smiled at him over your shoulder, still digging around in your bed.

Raph smiled a toothy smile. “Thanks! I like to collect them… Kind of hard to do that without spending a lot of money, though… Most of them are ones my brothers have given me over the years”

You nodded. “Cool! Seems like your brothers knew just what to get you then.”

Raph looked over at the small box on his nightstand. He was nervous about wearing it in front of you. He had only ever worn it in front of his brothers, and he was worried of what you would think of it… Especially because it was shaped around his fang and looked a little strange.

Finally your fingers found the container your retainer was kept in.

You pulled it out of your bag, opening the small plastic container with a click

Raph blinked. “You… Wear a retainer?” He asked as you put it on, fitting it inside your mouth.

After a short moment of muscle memory, you closed the container and put it back in your bag with a nod and a smile. “Yep, I wear a retainer.”

You glanced at Raph to see his reaction, and was pleasantly surprised when Raph’s face lit up into a smile.

“Really? I wear one too!” He said, grabbing his container from his nightstand. “Raph was a little nervous about wearing it in front of you…”

You raised your eyebrows. “Nervous? Why?” You smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Raph nodded, feeling a little better. “I don’t know… I was just self conscious.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be! I would never make fun of you for it or anything, even if I didn’t wear one myself.”

Raph smiles, and you zip up your bag. He opened the small plastic container, putting the plastic retainer over his teeth.

You smile at him, and he smiles back, clearly relieved.

“Thanks Y/n,” He smiled, and scooted so you could take half of the bed. You sat down next to him with a smile, patting his shoulder.

“No problem… Seriously, don’t stress about it…. No one should ever make fun of you for it,” You say, laying down next to him on your half of the bed, pulling the blankets up over yourself. It was getting really late, and you could immediately tell how tired you were.

Raph smiled and nodded, pulling the gigantic blanket over half of himself too.

“Good to know…Thanks,” He said, sleepiness settling into his eyes and muscles.

“Anytime Raphie…”

*****************************************************************

Hope you like it! I'm really busy working on some personal and long requests, so I took a break to do some shorter ones :)

Bye bye butterflies!

[evecolourshock]

THE BOISSSSSSS ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Love them

birds of a feather

[jijidraws]

✶ P△TRONS! ✶

Thank you for your patience while I catch up on sticker club! It’s given me peace of mind while I heal up. ;0; October’s delayed rewards have hit the mail. ♡ They should arrive to y’all late this week/early next! xx

(If you’re a member who missed out on this set or the global tier small prints: these are up in the sticker archive! Just check the pinned post on p△treon for this month's password.)

[reverie-arcane]

⟢ Po śmierci Sułtana Sulejmana, tron Imperium Osmańskiego obejmuje jego najstarszy syn, Mustafa I… Wszystkich miłośników fikcji historycznej i osmańskiej w grupie, zrzeszającej wszystkich zainteresowanych serialem "Wspaniałe Stulecie". Zapraszamy do przybycia z postaciami z serialu oraz postaciami autorskimi oraz poszukiwanymi, jakie znajdują się w BAZIE . ˎˊ˗ Aby do nas dołączyć proszę o kontakt z @bosnianxheart lub @devoted-to-light .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡⠀⠀‣⠀ㅤ𝓛𝓿𝓬𝓲𝓯⠀⠀ϑᕞ⠀ㅤֺֺㅤ  ᵎᵎ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐳𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐲ㅤ  ᵎᵎ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚ ࿙ ׅ ࿚࿙ ׅ ࿚࿙ ׅ ࿚

[lucky-dyse]

Rewatching Tron (1982) in honour of Cindy Morgan ♡

[evecolourshock]

THIS IS SO COOL AAAAAAA!!!!!!

The creative team dropped the new logo for Tron Asterisk! It looks fantastic!

[lilflowerpot]

What nick names do you think Keith and Lotor have for each other? /gen

galra terms of endearment | Lotor's nicknames for Keith | Keith's nicknames for Lotor

Well obviously our favourite purple menace is a terrible terrible man who uses every nickname under the scorching desert sun—because not a single one has ever failed to inflict colour upon his lover's cheeks—but chief among them are: darling, sweet-thing, sweetheart, my love, beloved, l’vaanu, maar tron liirah, and (of course) b’aakhitah ♡

Keith is a little more selective—no less sincere in his affection, just less vocal—but when he does choose to verbalise it (beyond the obvious "I love you") it takes one of three forms: your highness, when he's being playful, teasing Lotor with a title that means everything to the rest of the universe, yet nothing between them; darlin', when he wants something, with a healthy dose of that southern drawl creeping into his voice because he knows exactly how it affects his prince; and rarest of all, tsaiah, used sparingly and only when they're intimate, a whispered prayer on his tongue as his lover leaves him breathless.

[troninthemiddle]

I love that programs find hobbies/jobs outside of what their creators designated for them.

Tron, a security program but also in love with sports and games

Shaddox, an architect but he's a bartender as well

Paige, a medic but she wanted to be a musician and she's currently in the army

Beck, a mechanic but he goes beyond it and fights too

Programs aren't beholden to their programming. They can and will go beyond that. As a hobby or as a job or as an ambition. They have free will.

[opossumloverr]

Could you do a headcannon with the Rise Boys with a Seal Yokai reader? I wonder how each would react to it?

✪TURTLE BROS X SEAL YOKAI READER✪

Summary:

The Mad Dogs reaction to a Seal Yokai reader!

Warning(s):

None! Fluff

A/N:

FIRST ASK OF THE SEASON EVERYBODY YEEHAWW, I love seals so much they're so cute, if only it wasn't illegal to own them 😓 (Gender-neutral reader!)

《RAPH》

You're so god damn CUTE

He definitely watches those cute animals compilations on YouTube, so when he saw you, he is in AWE

He cannot get his eyes off you

Please please PLEASE let him cuddle with you, PLEASE that's all he wants

I don't know if seals actually do this in real life but, he'll gladly watch you balance things on your nose

OH MY GOSH! And if you can do tricks, popcorn in hand with a beverage to wash it all down, you don't mind putting on a little show for ol'Raphie, right?

"Encore!" Raph squealed as he started rapidly clapping his hands together, "That was amazing [NAME]!"

"Raph all I did was balance a ball on my nose for 10 seconds"

"And those were the best 10 seconds of my life"

He loves anything that you do

Praises you anytime he gets, just look at you! you deserve it!

I live laugh love this giant man

《LEO》

He thinks you're so silly

A silly little goober

He watches those seal stimboards on TikTok unironically 💀

He will 'boop' your nose, you can't avoid it, it's a cannon event

And if you do that little thing that seals do where they retract their whole head into their neck when he does it, you just dug yourself a grave out of embarrassment cause he will NOT stop bringing that up

"Leo, for the last time shut up!" You yelled at the red-eared slider that was currently getting on your last nerve,

"Aw, cmon! you can't deny it, you looked adorable!" He replied, "I swear you'll be the first yokai to ever kill someone with their cuteness"

Teases you and calls you every cringey name in the book

Y'know how baby seals are called 'pups' yeah, he will call you pup on a daily basis (Leo at this point leave, I'm holding the door open for you)

Likes making you mad or flustered just so he can see your reaction ♡

《DONNIE》

You're adorable, hope you know that

Gives you lots of pats with his robot-arms ♡

Will probably research a lot about your species and what they like so he can accommodate them

Seals are actually pretty smart, so uh take that as you will

Likes to lay down on you sometimes while he rants about his day or some project he's working on, not his fault you feel like a cushion

Likes to watch your tail move, not in a weird way its just, fascinating, the way it moves so smoothly is so satisfying

"Donnie? Don-tron? Earth to Bootyyyshaker9000?" You've noticed how he wasn't paying any attention to anything you've been saying for the past 5 minutes, you looked at his face and followed his eyes to where/what he was looking at, oh! It was your tail, you lifted your tail up to wave it in front of his face, that seemed to snap him out of it,

"Oh! my apologies, carry on, [NAME]" He said sheepishly, you just hummed and continued

He also likes the texture of it and will sometimes graze his fingers on your tail

《MIKEY》

HUGS HUGS HUGS!

He just wants to pet you all over

I feel like Mikey is a HUGE animal lover so if you let him pet you, he's over the moon

Plays with your fins sometimes

Likes to squish your face together, he can't help it! you're too cute!

Since seals do eat small marine life, he will cook you a bunch of seafood (seafood boil)

Likes to stare into your eyes, they're so big and shiny, it's kinda hypnotic

Small little giggles leak through your mouth as you stare into Mikey's eyes, not blinking at all, "Mike? You good?" You asked but all you got was a 'hmm' for a response, your eyes subconsciously moved from his,

"Hey hey hey! what are you looking at? bring those cute eyes back on mine!" He pouted, and you laughed,

"Oh, so you like my eyes? how sweet"

"Yep! And I would very much like it if you don't break my gaze, thank you very much!"

I'm so normal about him guys, TRASTYFDTUFYFYUDFIYDIGU

THIS IS WAYY SHORTED THAN HOW I USUALLY WRITE THINGS, SORRY! I'm trying to get my gears going, thank you for the request! Keep them coming guys! but at a reasonable rate pls 🙏🏾

(ALSO LOOK AT HOW CUTEEE AWH)

[earthtolexie]

happy daft punk break up anniversary everyone

[evecolourshock]

Any time, bud ♡♡♡

Various sketchy doodle comms for @jaxinkh @mewtwowarrior & @evecolourshock for helping me out when I hit rock bottom. I love you guys so much♡

[art-arthamato]

⃗*ೃ༄Masterpost ♡

꒰ :🌺: welcome to ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Hello! I'm Artemisia, or call me Artie, Art, whichever you like 🩷

Youngest Hamato sibling of the turtles. 14-18 years old fictive alter yet sometimes uses this as an rp blog. She/They/He pronouns. Agender. AroAce Lesbian. White-lipped mud turtle something something.

ੈ✩ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

╭────┈ ↷

│ ♡┊*·˚ My Family୧ *·˚┆

│╭────────────

│❥ Leo💙

│❥ Don-tron💜

│❥ Twin🧡

│❥Vee🩵

│❥ Raphie ❤️

│╰─────────── ·  ·  ·  · ✦

˚ ·. ·

「 DNI / Do not! 」

⌧ ❱ Tc3st/Proshippers, fandom drama, transphobia....

⌧ ❱ System discourse

⌧ ❱ Rude people, trying to ask personal questions

⌧ ❱ NSFW

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[evecolourshock]

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Well, that's that-

heLlo?

Is someone here?

hi? caN anYOne hEar Me?

Hey, who is that?

it'S so dArk...

How about you come this way? Follow my voice, that's it. Come on, it's alright. There's plenty of light over here.

whO aRe yoU?

Beck? Is that you, kid? Little late for a Halloween prank, bud.

iS thaT my naMe?

...what happened to your eyes, B? Are you okay?

thESe arE mY eyEs.

..okay that's not normal. You're not Beck, what the- no, don't you come any closer- TRON HELP!

...whAt hapPeNed? whO's thAt?

...

...thEy'Re gOne. i'm sO lOnelY...